Forget Me Not
by xxWickedWench
Summary: "And once the storm is over, you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure the storm is really over. But one thing is certain: When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in." A serial killer is stalking New York City, and Spot and Angel once again fight to stay together. Surprise! Part IV!
1. one

**CHAPTER ONE**

I watched, with morbid fascination, the small, crisp black husks scattered across the chipped white paint of the window in the landing of the Brooklyn Lodging House For Girls. It was hard to believe that they were ever alive. The little bugs, I mean.

I wondered what it would be like to be shut up in an airless glass box, stuck between the screen and the window pane for months, baking in the relentless New York sun, able to see the outdoors and endlessly hurdling yourself against the invisible wall that seals you from what you want most, from what makes you feel alive, until eventually you succumb: scorched, exhausted, overwhelmed by the impossibility of the task.

At what point, I wondered, does a fly give up trying to escape the prison it's been put in? At what point does it just give up, buoyed by the intense failure that swiftly follows each attempt? At what point do you decide that enough is enough?

"Angel! Are ya ready to go yet?"

I turned at the sound of two girls speaking at once, my favorite pair, Joker and Wicked. They looked very fashionable in their skirts and blouses made of complimentary colors, but looked much like themselves with their top hats on. They were both grinning, arms hooked together, watching me.

"Yeah. Here I come," I answered, standing up from my bed. I preferred Spot's bed; he'd slept in it longer so it had a worn in crease that was comfortable to sleep in. The one I had in the girls' home was a newer mattress, thanks to the lovely sisters of the church at the end of the block.

Wicked and Joker led the way out the door, pausing when the sisters of that very church pulled up to the curb with their carriage of half-hearted breakfast. Like a good little Irish Catholic, I signed the rosary and accepted the hunk of bread I was given.

Brooklyn had always been under 'reform' since the dissolution of the Five Points in Manhattan years back. A handful of churches scattered around the city made it their mission to reform the more un-Christian parts of New York. Nobody bothered with the fact that most of us street kids had no home to go to and no parents. Plenty of us had parents, but worked the streets making money to help support them. It was funny that way; nobody wanted to fix the root of the problem, just the effects of it.

We reached the distribution yard in record time and I smiled when I saw Silver sitting on the curb just outside, his nose in the paper. Silver was Spot's longtime pal and his official second in command. They had an insanely tight bond, and I knew from experience how much Spot valued Silver's insight.

"Hey, Silver! How's the headline today?" I asked, kicking the toe of his shoe playfully to get his attention. However, my smile faltered when he looked up at me, his mouth set in a grim line. Silently, he handed over the paper to me. The front page headline chilled my blood to ice.

'BOY MURDERED IN QUEENS. POLICE BAFFLED BY BOY'S BRUTAL STRAGULATION.'

"Oh, God," I said quietly, feeling my stomach roll inside me. The article was gruesome, sharing the shocking facts of the case that they knew so far. The boy was quite young, and worked as a newsie, of all things.

"Has Spot seen this yet?" I asked Silver.

"Seen what?"

I turned slightly at the familiar voice and handed Spot the paper when he got close enough. His arm hooked around my waist and he kissed the side of my head. He was quiet as he skimmed over the article, his mouth taking on the same grim line as Silver's.

"What are we gonna do, boss?" Silver asked, standing up finally. "You think Patch will be here soon to talk about it?" Patch was the current leader in Queens. He stayed pretty neutral as much as possible in turf wars and squabbles between territories, but I knew that he and Spot had a very amicable relationship and helped each other out on occasion.

Spot shook his head, handing the paper back to Silver. "Patch can handle himself." He frowned. "I would hate for that to happen to any of our kids, though." His eyes found the birdies, talking amongst themselves nearby. They were all so young, around the age of the boy who was murdered.

"I'll keep an eye on them, Spot," Silver said, noticing how his eyes lingered on the little ones. "Maybe we shouldn't have them running errands today, just in case."

"They'll go in pairs. I need to know what's going on," Spot said, with a note of finality. I knew that Spot liked to have the birds floating around. Without them, he felt blind.

Silver knew he didn't have a dog in this fight, so he was forced to let it go. He nodded slightly and turned on his heel, heading over to the birds, presumably to tell them to stick together today.

"Are you really not going to see Patch?" I asked Spot, turning slightly to look at him. "He's your friend, Sean. It's dreadful what happened to one of his newsies."

He was thinking hard, not looking at me. "Not yet. I need some time to think." I supposed that was reasonable. "But I don't want you going far. You're not going with the twins to Manhattan anytime soon. I want you here."

I was irked that he thought I couldn't handle myself. "Why?"

He seemed genuinely confused as to why I was questioning him. "Because I don't want you getting into trouble."

"I can take care of myself, and I'll be with the twins who can take care of themselves. I was a rake before, don't you know?" Spot seemed to often 'forget' that I used to be a pickpocket after I'd lost him, and I didn't appreciate it.

"You're not going to Manhattan. That's final." He'd said it sort of harshly, but he softened when he saw the look on my face, his mouth against my cheek. "I just worry about you. Stay safe."

He gave me one last affectionate squeeze and then let me go completely, heading into the yard to buy his papers for the morning.

The twins joined me soon after, Wicked handing off the papers she'd bought for me. I handed her the money I owed her and we set off down the street together.

"So what does His Majesty think about the murder?" Joker asked me.

"I'm not sure, honestly. He doesn't seem rattled, but then again, he never really does," I told her, frowning. "I'm frightened, and I don't know how seriously he's taking this."

"Let him think on it for now," Joker said, curling her arm around my shoulders as a sign of reassurance. "We'll bother him some more tonight, see what he thinks. For now, let's just carry the banner and try not to think about it."

With that, Joker hooked her arm through Wicked's and they parted with me at the intersection, waving jovially at me. I smiled a bit and kept going, hawking the headlines as I went. The word 'murder' was definitely a favorite buzzword amongst the civilians because I was out of papers very quickly, without having to improve the truth. It bothered me.

I sat down on an empty stoop and adjusted my skirt a bit, just quietly people watching. At the far intersection, a sensationalist was screeching propaganda. I never paid much attention to them, most of them preaching religion or some such nonsense. This time, my ears were attuned to the words the man was saying. He spoke of a murderer in London ten years ago called Jack the Ripper, how they never caught him, leaving the city and the police reeling from the damage that had been done.

Standing up, I made my way over to the man. There was a small crowd around him, mostly frightened-looking upper class ladies. He was handing out leaflets with shaky hands, telling everyone to stay safe, stay vigilant.

"Could I have one of those, sir?" I asked him.

He pressed a leaflet into my hand, smiling, showing off the gaps in his teeth. "Be safe, miss. Would hate to see a pretty mug like yours all carved up."

Shaken, I turned and went back the way I came, reading the leaflet. It explained in brutal detail what had happened to the five women in London, all of them ladies of the night. They had been sexually assaulted, their insides pulled out, and throats cut. My stomach rolled inside me again.

I made it back to the Brooklyn Lodging House, comforted by the familiar faces I saw hanging around outside. I headed down to the docks, counting the faces of the birds as I passed them, making sure they all were accounted for.

Spotting Silver sitting on a crate and smoking, I planted myself down beside him and nudged his shoulder with my own. He smiled at me, handing the cigarette to me. "How was your day, Angel?"

"Lots of money to be made off a dead kid," I said, a little more grimly than I had intended.

I didn't see the twins anywhere nearby, so I could only assume that they were in Manhattan still. I wanted to know what the boys across the bridge thought about what had happened in Queens, but since I was confined in Brooklyn, I couldn't go there myself. It was frustrating having a short leash.

I heard Spot's name from some of the boys halfway down the dock and looked up to see him strolling down the dock, lazy as you please, cane in hand. He didn't look nearly as thoughtful as he did this morning and I wondered if he had any more thoughts as to the boy's murder.

"Heya, boss," Silver said, spitting in his hand.

Spot returned the gesture and they shook. "Take a walk with me, Lissa," he said to me. I sighed and stood up. "Watch the boys for a minute, yeah, Silver?" Spot gave Silver a grin and then steered me back down the dock.

"What's on your mind?" I asked him.

"What's on yours? Still mad at me for this morning?" He slanted me a look, his mouth still smiling.

I shrugged. "Ah, not really. I guess I understand why you said it. Don't leave me on the hook forever, though."

"I know. I'm sorry if I upset you. It won't be for long. Just until I figure some things out," he told me.

"Promise?" I pushed.

He chuckled. "Cross my heart, Lissa."

"Are you okay? I know you worry about the birds," I said softly, looking over at him.

Spot sighed, taking his hat off. He stuffed it into his pocket and ran a hand through his hair. "I am worried about them. But the birds are tough."

"They are," I agreed. "But they're also just kids, Sean."

"Silver's looking out for them. That's good enough for now."

He'd done this during the strike, thinking about the big picture, everything as a whole. Whilst I had been focused on the unfairness of the raise in price, he was more focused on what was best for everyone involved. Ten cents was a meager price to pay if it meant the boys were able to afford sleeping in the lodging house and making enough to get by. It had frustrated me then, and it was frustrating me now.

"Does one of ours have to die before you realize that this isn't just a Queen's problem, but a newsie problem?" I asked him.

"Only one kid died, Lissa. One. You don't know if it was just a fluke, or if its something worse. We won't know until more information comes out, if it comes out at all." He was frowning again. "You make it seem like I'm being selfish. I'm being rational. Someone has to."

He was right, of course. I felt bad for basically accusing him of only thinking about himself when he really wasn't.

"I'm sorry. I'm just really worried, Sean. What if its one of ours next?" I asked him.

He stopped us walking and turned to face me. "We'll deal with that when it comes." He saw the look on my face and amended his statement. " _If_ it comes. We'll be okay. Do you trust me?"

I nodded. "Cross my heart."

* * *

 _Author's Note-_

 _GUESS WHO'S BACK! With a surprise sequel, no less! I was originally planning on just rewriting the trilogy since it needs updated badly, and then write this story, but you guys have three things to thank for the sequel and not the rewrite._

 _My favorite human being Joker is Poker with a J, because her writing is my inspiration. Mariana's Trench, which is a fantastic band and their most recent album has kicked my plot bunnies into high gear. And third is my always constant desire to write a compelling mystery story. Let's see how I do!_

 _Leave me a review! Did you guys miss Spot and Angel? I know I did! Love you guys!_

 _Carryin' the banner!_

 _xx Wicked_


	2. two

**CHAPTER TWO**

Days passed and police were still completely floored over the Queens murder. It was sensational news, of course, considering it was a child who was murdered. Most of the boys were thrilled to have such easy selling days, but a murder with no leads was stale news after a few days.

I was frightened, even if that made me the only one. I'd heard some chatter from some of the girls that shared my worries, but the boys didn't seem to be phased. Not even Silver's usually soft heart held up, just as happy as the rest of the boys to milk the news for money.

I'd had enough, though, and took it upon myself to venture to Queens to find out how Patch was holding up. I hadn't asked Spot specifically, but I assumed that he hadn't gone to see his friend in the last few days and that was abhorrent to me. Big picture or not, friends counted; they mattered.

Then again, I was pretty sure the only person he really trusted was Silver. Friend meant something different to Spot Conlon than it did to me.

I parted ways with Wicked and Joker that morning as usual, wishing Joker luck on Race's "hot tip" down at the tracks that she agreed to bet on with him. They were headed down to the tracks now to sell with the scrappy Italian, and hopefully make some extra dough. I hadn't seen Spot all morning and he wasn't in the yard when I came with the girls to buy my papers, which honestly was just as well. I didn't want to have to lie to his face.

Selling papers had become second nature anymore, easy as breathing. It was at least more honest money than picking pockets, but at least picking pockets was instant gratification. I was lousy at business, usually stealing other "improved truths" I'd heard from others. I wasn't nearly as creative as some of my peers, much as I tried.

I enjoyed the walk to Queens, like I always did, though I cheated a bit and hitched a ride on a streetcar. Queens was massive like Brooklyn, but much more diverse culturally. It seemed that the influx of immigrants had all migrated to Queens for some reason, but it made for an eclectic mix of different worlds that all blended together. Being an Irish immigrant myself, of course, I felt as if I appreciated the differing cultures a little more. I knew what it felt like to be an outsider, so to speak.

The Queens Lodging House was a hulking thing in the middle of Kew Gardens, a fairly decent walk away from my home in Brooklyn Heights. I was just thankful that the cable car workers didn't always check to see who had paid and who hadn't.

Deciding I would be kind and grab some lunch to split with Patch and his girl, I crossed the intersection and headed towards a street food vendor down the block. However, on my way, I noticed something quite peculiar.

A boy about my age was moseying along, hands in his pockets. He was currently stopped in front of a storefront, gazing into the window at one of those fancy knick-knack stores. He clearly had no use for them, or a lot of money, judging from the way he was dressed.

A well-to-do man exited the store then and the boy jumped into action. He tucked his head down and strode with purpose towards the affluent man, intentionally colliding with him quite hard. The boy was quick with apologies, of course, but I noticed his hand reach deftly into the man's pocket to relieve him of his wallet. He was gone in a flash, turning down a side alley to make his escape. The man noticed nothing and continued on his way.

I was shocked. He was actually quite good for a rake, rivaling those that I knew that were talented in the art of thievery, including my favorite twins in top hats and even myself. I was, of course, no longer picking pockets, but the fact remained that I was actually impressed.

I headed up the street and down the alley I'd seen the boy walk down, but found him nowhere. I put a hand on my hip and frowned, but figured I'd been distracted enough for one day and decided to resume my original mission of finding lunch and talking to Patch.

When I turned around, however, I found the boy standing right behind me, casually leaning against the side of the building. "Lookin' for me, lass?" he asked me. I noted the Irish lilt of his voice and smiled despite myself.

"Not entirely," I said, though it was partly a lie. "I saw what you did, though."

He smiled, slow. "Oh, you did, did you? And what exactly did you see?"

He was playing dumb and I didn't understand. "You picked that man's pocket."

"Did I?" He pretended to be shocked and then smirked again. "How would I have done that?"

I was becoming impatient. "I _saw_ you. You ran into him and took his wallet. It's classic but an overdone method, really."

He tilted his head thoughtfully and then shook it. "Must've been someone else. I don't recall any of that." With that, he turned and began walking away, but I wasn't done talking.

I walked double time to catch up to him, falling in step beside him. "Are you gaslighting me right now?" I demanded. "I _saw_ what you did. I was _there_."

"Well ain't that a two-bit word! A real educated lady, are ya?" He eyed me, his gaze slowly sliding from my face down along my body, making me blush with anger. "An educated lady dressed like an uneducated lady."

I huffed. "I _am_ an educated lady, if you must know." I pinned him with a glare. "You don't know a damn thing about me."

"Oh, I know _all_ about you, lass," he said, laughing. "You're the queen of Brooklyn; Spot Conlon's girl. They call you something cutesy, don't they?"

My face flushed with annoyance. I hated when people referred to me like that. "Angel, not that its any of your business," I informed him, which made him laugh. "And I am _not_ Spot Conlon's girl. I don't belong to anyone." I frowned. "Who even are you?"

He snorted. "You're a little far from your birdcage, aren't you, Angel?" He said my name in a way that sounded as if he was mocking me.

I couldn't think of a damn thing to say to him and it worked out that I hadn't because the boy turned abruptly and entered a building. It took me a moment to realize it was the Queens' Lodging House. The boy headed up the stairs and I was left gaping in annoyance, though not for long. Felicity, the queen of Queens, came from the kitchen area with an apron tied around her waist.

"Angel!" She looked happy to see me, but she looked kind of a mess.

Her usually classy Gisbon girl hairstyle, that always looked best with her natural chocolate curls, were instead unpinned and fell down her back completely. Her hair looked as deflated as she did; I noticed the lines on her face much more now, despite the fact that she was only two years older than me.

"How are you holding up?" I asked, reaching out for her hand. She let me hold it, but only for a moment before she pulled away from me.

She seemed embarrassed to look so distraught. I was acutely aware of the scattered others in the foyer with us, small groups of newsies just relaxing and talking after a long day of selling. Felicity seemed to notice the boys as well, and I wondered how many of them were listening to our conversation.

"We're doing just as well as we can," she said, and I noticed how carefully she chose these words. I felt bad for embarrassing her, knowing how much I tried to save face in front of other people when I was upset.

"Well, you know that Spot and I are here for you. Even if he won't come all the way here and tell you that himself," I told her.

That seemed to soften Felicity a bit. She smiled. "He's quite pigheaded, isn't he?"

"That he is," I agreed, smiling myself. "Do give Patch my love, and know that I'm thinking about you both. You two always have a home in Brooklyn."

"Thank you, Angel. Truly." Felicity reached for my hands this time, squeezing them affectionately. "Let me send you home with something, please."

In the end, I agreed to let her give me a loaf of bread she'd baked, wrapped up tight so we could put it into the icebox in the Lodging House so it wouldn't spoil as easily. I snuck onto a trolley heading back to Brooklyn, getting shooed off the thing only when I was a few blocks away.

Summer was creeping upon us, so the sun stayed stubbornly in the sky for as long as possible. This meant that the boys were still roaming around the dilapidated docks, pushing curfew for as long as they possibly could. I found Silver and Spot sitting together, sharing a cigarette. Smoking was something Spot did only when he was upset. Both boys looked up when they heard my footsteps approaching.

"Would one of you be willing to walk me home?" I asked.

"Your hair looks better down," Spot said, but he didn't look at me.

"Pardon?" I said, since that wasn't the answer to the question I had asked.

"Your hair. It looks better down. I hate when you put it up."

He took another drag of the cigarette. I was getting tired of his moodiness as of late. I'd done nothing to warrant it and I couldn't empathize if I didn't know why he was being this way. However, I untied the scrap of fabric that I'd used to tie up my hair in the first place, letting it fall down my back.

Silver smirked at me. "I'll walk you home, Angel," he volunteered. It didn't not escape my notice that Silver knocked his shoulder into Spot's on his way to getting up. Spot made a noise of annoyance but did not say anything or look up at either one of us.

Once we got far enough away, I had to ask. "What's eating him?"

"The Bulls came sniffing around here earlier, asking questions. It didn't escape their notice of our civil war a few months ago." Silver frowned. "The Bulls don't bother with our street rat squabbles. They're just as happy to let us kill each other. Less work for them, I guess."

"So why's that upset him so much?" I pressed.

"Because the Bulls think one of us did it. Because of the whole situation last year with the Bronx," Silver explained, and then sighed.

"What happened to just letting us kill each other?"

"Guess the kid's dad is looking for someone to blame. Can't say I blame him. If my boy got cut up like that, I'd want some damn justice, too." Silver stopped outside the Girl's Home, leaning against the doorframe.

It wasn't fair that a young life got cut short so quickly. I could empathize a bit with the child's family. About a year ago now, one of my dearest friends had taken her life, suddenly and without warning. Sometimes I cannot think of her because it aches in my chest so much that I cannot breathe. She hadn't been murdered, but it had still been unfair.

"He's trying to protect everyone, you know, Angel," Silver continued, after a moment. "He's stretched thin, and he's worrying like hell. Give him a little slack?"

I nodded, smiling. "I am, honest. I can kind of see where he's coming from anyway. I think."

Silver smirked again and then leaned in, pressing his lips to my cheek. "Sleep well, Angel. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

I nodded. "Sleep well." I watched Silver melt into the shadows again and then let myself into the house for the night.

* * *

 _Author's Note-_

 _Wow, what's going on with Spot, yeah? Oh wait, I all ready know! Being a writer is awesome. I'm currently writing the next chapter and also the rewrite of Blue Eyes. If you wanna see either, let me know how I'm doing with a review! I want to post the rewrite very soon..._

 _Thanks as always to my biggest supporter, Joker, my sweet guest, and the insanely talented coveredinbees14! You three made my day; thank you!_

 _Carryin' the banner!_

 _xx Wicked_


	3. three

**CHAPTER THREE**

 _My head was filled with cotton wool and there was a dull ache forming in the back of my jaw. Máthair held the back of my head as she forced the spoon into my mouth, feeding me 'medicine' that made me sleepy._

 _She usually force-fed me the thick syrup after Athair had his way with me, my body sore from the abuse. It made me drowsy, but I always hung onto the thinnest part of consciousness, swinging back and forth like a pocketwatch on a gold chain._

 _The very last time I remember feeling the disgusting slime on my tongue, I saw her crying as she stuck me into the wash bucket, pumping cold water onto my body and cleaning me off._

 _As if any amount of scrubbing could take back what he had done to me. And no amount of tears would ever absolve her for not stepping in to protect me._

"Angel! Hello, Angel?"

I was startled back into the real world by the sound of Wicked's voice. I blinked rapidly and saw her face go from fuzzy to sharp in a few seconds as my brain caught up with my eyes. There was a certain curl to her blonde hair, probably from the humidity.

"Sorry. How long was I out that time?" I asked the twins, frowning.

"Just a minute or so," Wicked said, sharing my frown. "Are you okay?"

"You're so daft! Don't you know what today is?" Joker told Wicked, digging her elbow into the girl's ribs.

"Really, girls, I'm quite all right," I told them.

The two shared an unconvinced look, which I did not appreciate seeing as they were not subtle about it in the least, and then looped their arms together. It seemed that was that, but I was happy to let them buy my lie. Though, truth be told, I wasn't certain they believed me at all.

It had been a rough two weeks since the first print of a slaughtered boy in Queens. Since then, three more boys, carved up and gutted the same way, had turned up but the bodies were spread out - another two in Queens and one in the Bowery in Manhattan. It was like a nightmare, one that we weren't escaping any time soon. The violence brought forth so many unwanted memories, things I'd been trying to forget for a long time now.

"Do you girls need me anymore? We got most of the shopping list, and I need to head to Manhattan before the sun gets any higher," I told the twins, glancing up at the sky.

Twice a week, us females were expected to do the shopping and cook dinner for the boys. Call me progressive, but I didn't appreciate the way we were expected to work all day and then come home and pamper the boys. Sure, high society had tried to drill into my head that our only use was to find a good husband and create children, but that had long been put out of my head as a plausible thing for me. I was practically approaching old maid status anyhow.

"Hello?" Wicked cocked her head to the side and groaned. "You keep going away, Angel. Are you sure you're okay?"

I shook my head. "No, I know," I said and then shook my head again. "Ah, I mean, yes, I'm fine. I'm right here, I promise."

The twins shared another unconvinced look, but neither of them said anything.

"Are you sure you should be going to Manhattan, Angel? Boss was pretty clear that-" Joker began, and then stopped abruptly when I pinned her with a look.

"I know what he said," I told her patiently. "But today is my ballet lesson. Plus, it's clear as day out. I can't very well get stabbed in the middle of the day, can I?"

My tone challenged her to fight me, but Joker was as loyal as a dog. She wasn't going down so easily, which I suppose I could applaud her for. "What about taking Sneak with you?" she offered, as a form of compromise.

The little bird popped out from behind a fruit cart as if summoned by the mention of his name and I smiled despite myself. His dark hair had grown out again that desperately cried for a haircut and he had shot up like a weed in the spring, but he still had the most endearing baby face that reminded me he was still a child.

"I don't mind tagging along, Angel. We're supposed to go in pairs anyway," the birdie chirped, always happy to follow Spot's orders to the letter. It was as if he saw no other to do things.

"I am not letting fear overtake us," I told the three of them, perhaps a bit foolishly. "And this is madness. I can let off my leash for a few hours, don't you think?"

"But, Angel-" Joker began to protest.

Off the cuff, I proposed a deal: "How about this? I will meet Sneak at the Bridge at suppertime. He and I will walk back together and I'll help you guys make dinner. It will be as if Sneak followed me around all day. No harm, no foul."

"But what do we tell Spot?" Sneak wanted to know.

The twins understood what I meant instantly. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him, you snitcher," Wicked told him and then grinned. "Now beat it before I kick ya in the pants!"

Sneak got that message loud and clear and he disappeared again, hurrying off in the opposite direction, stealing glances over his shoulder at us until he was out of sight.

"What have I told you about threatening children?" Joker whirled around on her heel to face her counterpart.

"We've never discussed threats, only actions. And I've never actually kicked a child, which you would know if you paid attention to me, which you do not," Wicked informed her matter-of-factly.

"Girls," I said, to get their attention. They both look at me. "We don't tell Spot and I come home in a few hours. Deal?"

"Deal!" The both spit in opposite hands and offered them to me. I spit in both of mine and then crossed them to shake, making the twins laugh.

"Just... be careful, okay, Angel?" Joker added, squeezing my elbow gently before she and her twin moseyed on to continue shopping.

Finally free, I headed straight for the Bridge that would take me to my freedom, if only for a little while.

Lessons concluded sooner than I would have hoped and I hung up my ballet costume and shoes, storing it in a backstage closet for safekeeping. After inquiring of the time from a gentleman on the street corner, I sighed and headed slowly back toward the Bridge, taking my time.

On the way, I stopped to buy a calla lily from a young girl in a flower shop. White lilies meant purity and the restoration of innocent after death. The sun had peaked and was making its slow fall toward the west, putting me on edge a bit. Of course, I had told the twins that I was not afraid, but I was deathly terrified. Four of us had been murdered, presumably by the same monster. No one was safe.

As I made my way toward the graveyard, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Someone was following me. Or was that simply my paranoia? I stopped at street corners and crossed several streets, hoping my peripheral vision would give me a glimpse of the person following, but nothing was helpful. Fed up, I stopped at a street corner and whirled around on my feet, hoping to catch the creep by surprise.

"Stop following me!" I exclaimed and the stopped short when I realized who was standing there just behind me. "You!"

It was the Irish pickpocket again. I'd seen him skulking around the fringes of heavily crowded areas in Brooklyn, sneaking glances at me. I was absolutely livid to see him now, knowing he'd been following me.

"Well, well, well. So the educated lady has a little fire," the pickpocket said, smirking. "Angel, wasn't it? Spot Conlon's girl?"

I dug my nails into my palms in anger. He'd said it to make me mad. "You know my name. And I've all ready told you how I feel about being referred to like that."

"Oh, right. You're your own person, aren't you?" He was mocking me again.

"You were following me," I accused him.

"Full of ourselves, too! Do you have any positive qualities, Angel? So far, I've only seen quite glaring faults in your character." Again with the mocking.

I was tired of this. Instead of responding, I turned on my heel and crossed the street. He chased after me, not even missing a beat.

"Awh, come on! Fight back! It's no fun when you don't fight back," he teased me, falling in step with me easily.

"You know my name. I don't know yours," I countered.

"Your name isn't Angel. I don't know yours either."

Damn, he made a good point.

"You aren't a bull, are you?" I asked. He gave me a side-glance that seemed to beg me to be joking. I _had_ seen him commit a crime after all. Several, actually. "My name is Alissa. Just Lissa, if you please," I said, after a moment.

"Lissa." He tested the name on his tongue, and then smiled. "I like that." I wanted to tell him that I could've cared less if he liked it or not, seeing as I hadn't chosen the name, but he continued speaking: "People call me Mick."

I frowned. "That's derogatory. Why would you let people call you that?"

"People are gonna call us derogatory things anyway. Might as well save them the trouble," Mick told me, shrugging his shoulders.

"People used to treat me poorly when I was a society girl," I shared after a few beats of silence. "Because I was Irish. People thought less of me, because they think the Irish are stupid."

"That's why I don't mind people calling me Mick." He looked over at me. "I can't be something I ain't. And I am full-blooded Irish."

"Where are you from?" I inquired curiously.

"Cork." He smiled again. "You?"

"Tralee." I tilted my head a bit. "Cork wasn't far from us."

It felt odd to talk about Ireland with someone. I didn't spend a lot of time pining after my homeland, not after all the trauma I went through there. I wouldn't go back to Ireland if someone paid me handsomely for it. New York was safe, though it didn't feel safe right now.

"So why are you going to a boneyard anyway?" Mick wanted to know.

It was only then that I realized we were standing outside the cemetery. I was still holding the calla lily in my hand.

"My friend is buried here. She, ah..." I faltered a bit, tears stinging my eyes so suddenly.

"It's all right. I'm sorry," he said, softening a bit.

"No, I-I'm sorry. It's, ah, hard to talk about her still sometimes." I felt like a fool. I didn't know this boy from Adam and it embarrassed me to have him see me this way.

"I can't even imagine, lass," Mick said empathetically. For some reason, hearing that helped. "Besides, I'm gonna head on. It's not proper for us to be alone together, is it?"

I smiled a little. "I suppose it's not."

He tipped his head and gave me a pirate smile. "See you soon, Angel." It still sounded like he was mocking me when he said my name.

I watched him head down the street, shaking my head when I watched him snitch an apple from a cart, the owner completely oblivious with her nose in a book.

I took my time in the cemetery, sitting in front of Diana's grave, just talking to her. I missed having her around to talk to about what was on my mind, but I took comfort knowing she was at peace and away from all the madness that was going on. Once again, all I wished I could do was speak to her. If she didn't know what to say, at least she could give me a hug.

Going back to Brooklyn didn't entirely seem appealing at the moment. I was going to be late, which I knew I would be in the very beginning. No use setting my lungs on fire trying to get back to the Bridge. If I was going to get in trouble anyway, I was going to spend as much time as possible prolonging the inevitable.

"Angel!" Jack greeted me, when I stepped inside the Duane Street Lodging House. "You're just in time for dinner." He patted the empty seat between himself and Skittery at the table.

Dinner was only served to those who could afford it. I found it a little ironic that there were some kids at this table that could afford dinner but not a bed to sleep in at night. It seemed sort of ass backwards to me.

"Hey, Angel. How goes it?" Skittery asked me, passing me the basket filled with warm rolls.

I shrugged. "I could be better. These murders have me really shook up," I told him honestly. "How are you guys doing? I heard about the boy in Bowery."

Skitts frowned. "He wasn't one of ours, thank God, but it's still rotten. A lot of rotten things are happening to us, just like always."

I couldn't argue with him there and that seemed to be the end of it, as Skittery was happy to tuck into his dinner without another word on the subject.

"What about you, Jack? Are you okay?" I asked him.

He sighed. "Just gotta take it one day at a time, yeah? It's all we can do." I nodded in agreement. "What about Spot? What does he think about all of this?"

"Beats me. He hasn't told me a thing," I said and then frowned. "I don't even know if he's truly upset about it."

Sean Conlon had grown into a very reserved, calculated man. It only made sense, of course, since he was in a position of power. It just always seemed to catch me off guard, his almost cavalier way of looking at things.

I paid for my dinner when I was finished and bid the boys goodbye. I figured it was time for my punishment, though I was not looking forward to it. I was actually surprised when I came to the Bridge and found nobody waiting there for me. No doubt Sneak had rushed off when he realized I wasn't coming to tell Spot. I wondered when he was going to send the bloodhounds out to find me, or why he hadn't lit up the entire city looking for me.

However, I got my answer as I made my way over the hump of the Bridge, descending down into Brooklyn Heights. He was leaning very casually against a steel beam, the cigarette smoke curling like thin clouds away from him.

"You're late," he informed me in a measured tone.

"Yes," I said wearily. I was not in the mood to be read the Riot Act tonight. "Can we please just go home, Sean?"

He gripped my wrist to stop me from moving past him. "That's it? I ain't seen you all day, you've been avoiding me, and _now_ you won't talk to me. How am I supposed to know what's going on with you if you don't talk to me?"

"How are you supposed to know what's going on with me if I don't talk to you?" I repeated, laughing at the irony of that question. "You've been pretty secretive yourself, Sean Conlon, so do _not_ talk to me about secrets."

"Lower your voice, Lissa," he told me patiently, like he was speaking to a child. "And I know you were in Manhattan. I see everything. But what I don't know is why; why you constantly feel the need to go against everything I say."

"I don't need to explain myself, but I guess I have to. You know what today is for me, and I was going to Manhattan for lessons anyway. I'm sorry to have disobeyed you once again, but I'm not a child. And I'm certainly not your pet, so quit treating me like one." I had no idea where all of that had come from. It was like once I'd started speaking, I couldn't stop.

Spot stared at me for a long time before speaking again. "I'm sorry," he said, which floored me. I hadn't expected an apology. "I completely forgot it was today. You went to see Diana."

I nodded slowly. "Yes."

"I'm sorry," he apologized again. I was flabbergasted. "Forgive me, Lissa. Please."

I shook my head. "Not tonight," I told him quietly. "Ask me again tomorrow."

Surprisingly, he took that. "All right." His eyes searched my face for a moment. "I love you, Lissa. You know that, don't you?" He sighed. "And I'm sorry if you feel like I've been secretive. I'm not keeping things from you, Liss. I promise."

"Yes, I know," I told him. "I love you, too."

Somehow, both of those things tasted like lies.

* * *

 _Author's Note-_

 _This too me too long because I honestly deleted and rewrote this chapter probably four times, but that means you get an extra long chapter for waiting so long! I don't want to give too much away but I am bursting at the seams with all these delicious plot bunnies! Hope you guys are still with me!_

 _Thanks as always to my better half Joker, my amazing guest, and the insanely talented coveredinbees14!_

 _Carryin' the banner!_

 _xx Wicked_


	4. four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

I couldn't figure out what to do with my knot of hair. I'd finally found some time to sit down and give it a proper wash and now the damp strings of blonde just hung limp around my face. I supposed it was entirely girly of me, fussing over my hair. Remembering the comment made about my hair being down, I simply plaited it and called it good.

It was Saturday, which meant that some of the girls were off selling for either extra cash or enough money to afford to sleep inside that night. The rest of us had chores, as if we weren't busy selling papers or working in a factory the rest of the week like everyone else.

My chore this week was laundry, which I fancied much better than doing the cooking or beating the rugs free of dust and dirt. Thankfully, it was only linen day so I got to work stripping the beds and placing the linens into a basket to take to the large washing basin.

I paused at the foot of my bed. I'd taken a trunk from my society girl days and kept some of my dresses and valuables in it. I had it locked and kept the key with me because, much as I trusted the girls, I couldn't be too careful. The things I'd kept for myself because of my vanity were worth more than a few bucks and I wouldn't put it past any of them to pawn them off for some easy cash.

Hell, I was considering the same thing. I'd had this bright idea that I would sell back my old dresses to the store and save that money for when money was tight so that girls who maybe couldn't afford to pay the Lodging House rent wouldn't have to sleep on the street. I thought it would be especially useful in the wintertime.

As I was hanging the linens on the line on the roof to dry, I heard hurried footfalls on the stairs headed toward me. One of the younger girls who frequently stayed at the house, called Calla, burst through the door and smiled big.

"Angel! You have a caller!" she informed me quite happily.

I pinned my last sheet to the line and then gathered up my basket. "Well, let's see who it is, shall we?"

I followed Calla back downstairs, leaving the basket in the washroom where it normally lived, and then headed down the second flight of stairs that took us to the day room.

He looked very handsome standing there, leaned against the wall. He was wearing a shirt I'd never seen before that looked far less threadbare than his usual attire. It looked pretty expensive, too. His hair was pushed back out of his eyes for once. I took notice of the few girls hovering close by, giggling behind their hands and whispering to each other as they watched him. I paused a few steps up and smiled.

"Why do I feel like you only come here for the other girls? You do so love the attention, after all," I tease him.

He turned and smiled at me. "Do I really need an excuse to come and see my girl?"

I shrugged innocently. "I suppose not."

He offered his hand to me and I took it, letting him guide me down the last few steps. He circled his arms around my waist and held me close for a moment. "But you're right. I do like the attention."

I groaned. "You are shameless, Sean Conlon."

"You know me so well," he answered, pressing his lips to my cheek.

I leaned back a moment, fingering his collar. "New clothes?"

"I came into some money recently," he explained coolly. I wasn't sure what about his tone I didn't like, but I didn't press the matter. "But I brought you something as well."

"A gift?" I asked, actually flattered.

He produced a small box from his pocket and handed it to me. I was touched. I unwrapped the twine around the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a beautifully designed white lace choker necklace. It was something I never expected him to pick out for me.

"Gracious," I gasped. "This is so beautiful."

"I know you never wear your society dresses anymore, but the blue one is my favorite. I thought this would go well with it," he explained, looking almost bashful.

"Sean, I can't accept this. It looks very expensive," I told him, shaking my head slightly. I ran my thumb over the intricate lace design, enamored.

"That's too damn bad, because I want you to have it," he said, grinning slightly.

I closed the box and threw my arms around his neck. "Thank you. I'll treasure it always."

"You're welcome." He mouth captured mine for the briefest of moments and then he pulled away again. "Now, then. I have somewhere to take you now."

"You do? Where?" I asked.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise!" Sean was grinning again, a most genuine thing that I hadn't seen in some time now. It was as if nothing bad was happening outside of our little bubble again. "You don't have other plans, do you?"

I shook my head and then smiled at him. "No, I don't. We can go," I said and then turned to Calla, handing her the little box with my necklace in it. "Calla, will you be a darling and put this under my pillow?"

"Yes, Angel!" Like the dutiful little thing she was, she took the box from me and darted upstairs.

Sean offered his arm to me like a proper gentleman and we exited the Lodging House. Once on the sidewalk, though, he switched to the other side of me so that I was walking on the inside away from the street. For someone who had never actually learned etiquette, I was pleased that he remembered the proper way to escort a lady.

"So can I get a hint as to where we're going?" I pressed. "And why don't you have Sneak with you? He's always hovering around you. I honestly can't believe we're actually alone right now."

"I'm full of surprises anymore, Liss," Sean said, the pirate smile tilting his lips again.

"Yes, I suppose you are."

He didn't say anymore to that. He didn't tell me where Sneak was, didn't offer up any reason why he'd given me a gift or why he was wearing new clothes. I suppose any old girl would've just been happy to have someone buying her gifts and doting upon her, but I found myself skeptical. Things were going very poorly around us; children were dying in the streets, strangled and stabbed to death by a predator nobody could name. He was acting strangely detached from the whole thing now, and I couldn't put my finger on what about it made me not entirely believe him.

"I feel like we haven't properly gone out in months, _mo grá._ " The endearment was nice to hear. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," I said, looking over at him curiously. "Is everything all right with you?"

"I don't know how anything can be right at this moment," he said, looking far away for a moment. "But being here, with you, is the most right thing I've felt in a long time. I'm sure of it."

"We'll be all right, you know." I pressed my lips together thoughtfully. "I wish you wouldn't worry so much."

"It's not just worry, Liss. It's bigger than that."

I would never understand this part of Sean's life: the leader, the street rat. In my eyes, he was two different people inhabiting the same body. Sean and Spot. Two very different personalities that constantly seemed to be at odds with each other. He had changed so much in the six years that we were apart that sometimes he was like a stranger to me. To be fair, though, I supposed that I had also changed quite a lot in six years.

"Have you ever thought about our life beyond this?" Sean asked. I looked at him curiously. "What happens when we stop being newsies?"

"I'm not sure," I said honestly. "Have you been thinking that way?"

"Sure, I have." He sighed and looked away from me, pensive again. "We've been through so much in the last year, Lissa. So much has happened. I'm not just looking after myself anymore. I'm looking after you, too. The streets is no place for me anymore, not when I have you back."

"Don't say that, Sean. I'd never expect to take you away from the newsies," I said, surprised. "Where is this coming from?"

He smiled a little. "I want to make an honest woman of you, Alissa O'Rourke. I want to marry you someday and live in a real house. Hell, maybe we'll have a kid or something." He laughed at my slight look of horror at that comment. "Being a newsie is for kids, Lissa. We ain't kids no more."

"Of course I want to live in a real house and get off the streets. This serial killer business has us all frightened. But we can't leave now, Sean. Not when we're getting killed like this. People need us here, Sean. People need you." I gave his hand a squeeze. "You are the most famous and respected newsie, are you not?" I teased him.

"I guess I am." He grinned at me and then hooked his arm around my neck, pressing his lips against my forehead. "I promised my father I'd keep you safe and never let anything bad happen to you, ever. Let me keep that promise, Lissa."

I nodded slowly and wrapped my arms tight around him. "Yes, of course."

Sean let me go and then smiled at me again. "Now then. I think I've distracted you enough." He held my shoulders and turned me around to face the opposite direction.

Leaning against the doorframe stood the most familiar face. Her ocher freckles littered her lovely face and her strange violet eyes twinkled mischievously at me.

"Och! Lissa O'Rourke, as I live an' breathe." It had been too long since I'd heard her brutal Scottish accent.

"Lara!" I yelled suddenly and then launched myself into her arms, holding her tightly. "When did you get back from India! You must tell me everything you learned!"

"I only go' back a week ago, lass!" Lara laughed and embraced me back. "It's goo' ta see ya, Lissa. I trust Conlon's been treatin' ya well?" I couldn't see, but I could only assume she was sending a glare over my shoulder in Sean's direction.

"Of course, Nightshade," Sean said, teasingly using a "newsie" nickname she didn't actually go by anymore. Not since she was studying to be an actual doctor.

"Please, won't ye come in?" Lara invited us, stepping back from me to push the door open more. "I'll put the kettle on an' tell ye everything!"

Lara's adventures in India were most thrilling. She was learning the art of herbalism, a most progressive form of medicine that used roots and herbs that grow from the ground to cure common illnesses. She said that the India's medical practices were far more advanced than those in America and she'd learned quite a lot from her travels abroad.

It was exciting to see her again after not seeing her for months since she'd gone away to study. I was happy that she was back. I had missed her very dearly. However, Sean decided we should start heading back to Brooklyn when he noticed the sun beginning to set a bit. We said goodbye to Lara and then started on the walk back.

"Thank you for taking me to see her. That was very kind of you," I told Sean, squeezing his hand affectionately.

"I figured you'd be happy to see her. I'm usually right, as you know," he said, giving me his most pirate smile.

As we approached the Brooklyn Bridge, I pointed to a small group of people hovering to the side of the bridge's mouth. "Look at that. Caravans. Do you think the circus is in town?" I inquired, looking over at Sean.

I was surprised to see his face contort in disgust. "They're gypsies, Liss. Trash."

"Why do you say that?" I asked him. It was sentiment that was also shared with high society and I still never understood it completely.

"They're not like us, Lissa. They're all thieves and liars. You don't want to get mixed up with them."

"We're not so unlike them, Sean," I told him gently. "Do you think they tell fortunes?"

He gave me a funny look. "You don't believe in fortune-telling."

"Certainly not, but I do think it'd be interesting," I said and then laughed when he gave me the same funny look. "Oh, indulge me, will you? I'll use my own money. That way, I'll have no one to blame but myself."

He grinned at me. "Fine. But when they take your money, don't come crying to me."

We headed toward the group of caravans together. A boy no older than myself stepped in front of us, offering a beautiful wild rose to me.

"Beauty for beauty," he said in a thick accent I didn't recognize, his eyes shining with mischief.

Sean didn't appreciate the sentiment, of course, and took the flower from him, throwing on the ground at the boy's feet. "Back off," he said, calm and cold, his arm tight around my waist like a vice.

The boy put his hands up in a way of surrender and then stepped back. We climbed up into the caravan with the sign that listed fortune-telling and Sean closed the door behind us.

The caravan was cramped inside, but beautiful, multi-colored scarves hung from the ceiling. It was something out of a harlequin novel, with jars of herbs and spices lining worn wood shelves. I half-expected to see a haggard old woman with boils on her face standing over a cauldron, muttering spells.

Sitting at the table, however, was an old woman dressed in a multi-colored sari, the fabric looking exactly the same as the scarves that covered the ceiling. Her skin was worn and leathery around her hands, as if she'd been doing hard labor most of her life. She had a scarf wrapped around her head as well and strange designs drawn on her hands, arms and feet that looked like tattoos. What most surprised me was her eyes, which were colorless bowls of milk amidst the sea of winkles on her face.

I looked away for a moment, embarrassed to have been staring at her. She was blind.

"Welcome, my pets. I do so enjoy when young couples seek me out," she said, her voice as watery and glassy as her eyes. "Please, sit."

I ignored the look Sean was giving me, and the fact that I could almost taste his skepticism in the air around us. He pulled the chair out for me first before taking the seat beside me.

"So who shall go first? I assume this was Alissa's idea; you're not so open-minded, are you, Sean?" the woman said, a kind smile on her weathered face. "Shall we, Alissa?"

It seemed bizarre that she knew our names without asking. I was skeptical myself of things like divination and fortune telling, but if that wasn't a sign that she had some kind of power, I don't know what would've convinced me.

"Sure," I said hurriedly. "I'm game. I shall go first."

"Very well. We will do the standard three-card spread. Past, present, and future." The woman shuffled the cards a few times and then fanned them out across the table. "Think carefully and then choose, Alissa."

She made it sound so ominous, as if cards would dictate my entire life. I made my selections and she pulled the remaining cards together quickly with a decisive snap.

"Middle is first," the woman said. "Turn if over, if you please." I did so silently. She touched the card for a moment, thinking. "Ah, the page of cups. You are doing great things, Alissa. I sense that you are a highly creative, imaginative spiritual being. Do you paint, perhaps? Or sing?"

"I dance, actually. I'm quite fond of it," I told her.

"Ah, of course. The page of cups is a wonderful dancer. Such expression can be made through the body," she said. "That's wonderful. Continue to use that power. It can be very healing for you." The woman shifted in her chair and then settled again. "Now the past card."

I turned the card over. She touched it as well. "The Judgement card. You are used to feeling the weight of scorn on your back. You were trapped in a life not meant for you. However, this card also signifies new beginnings. You are free from that life, and able to chart your own course. However, take heed that all of life's changes are by fire; change is painful and it will hurt. But you will learn a great lesson."

I supposed that could mean many things. Not only my escape from Ireland with Sean, but also my escape from high society. Both places I did not belong, but I felt as if I belonged now. "That's really interesting," I said.

"Now the last card, if you please," she said. I turned it over and she touched the card just as before. "Oh, my. This is the five of swords. The Traitor. You are living amongst dishonesty, Alissa. This card represents victory by betrayal. The truth will out at a high cost to you. Take caution with your heart. The ones we love the most cut us with the sharpest blade."

I was alarmed by this card. So was Sean, it seemed. The woman was not bothered of course, simply gathered the cards up in her weathered hands.

"Five cents, my pets," she reminded us. I glanced at Sean, studying his face a moment before I offered up the money to her. "You next, Sean?"

"Sure, I'll give it a go," he said. I smiled at him.

The woman shuffled the cards and then fanned them out, just as she'd done to me. Sean selected his three cards and she snapped them back into a pile.

"Present is first," she said. Sean turned the middle card over. "Ah, the Devil card." Sean tossed a pirate smile my way. "This card symbolizes a person's being and is a good sign. However, it also shows that you are involved deeply in temptations. Are you an addict, Sean?"

"Only to cigarettes," Sean said, looking confused.

The woman didn't seem convinced. She pressed on, however. "Next is the past card." Sean turned it over. "The knight of coins. Interesting! Underneath that devilish exterior is a man that is like fire. You are fiercely intelligent and a natural leader, are you not? You are stubborn as well, and highly protective of the things you love. I assume your young companion is among the things you treasure."

Sean touched my hand with his own, squeezing my fingers. "Yes, very much so," he told her. I blushed slightly.

"Now the future card." He turned it over. The woman frowned so deeply, so suddenly. The card was upside down, something I hadn't seen before. "Oh, Sean. This is very unsettling. The Knight of Swords reversed. With all that power that you wield, you are such a clever liar, aren't you? You are deceitful and wicked, confident the things you have buried will stay hidden. Reconsider the path you have chosen. This card is a warning that the path you have chosen will have disastrous results. It is never too late to change your fate." Then, just like that, the smile was back on face. "That's another five cents, pets."

Sean practically threw the money at her, took my hand and then yanked me hard out of the caravan. He was clearly very flustered by the entire endeavor.

"I'm sorry for that," I said hurriedly. "Fortune-telling is a sin. I should not have subjected us both to that. I feel the need to go to confession for a week straight."

"I told you it was just some make believe shit that those gypsies sell to make easy money. You know, I bet that woman wasn't even blind. It's so easy to fake handicaps. The newsies do it all the time," Sean said, suddenly so angry, glaring at nothing in particular. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"I'm sorry," I apologized again.

"We're going home, now," he decided.

We walked silently together along the road and he said not a word as he walked me back to the Girl's Lodging House. He simply kissed my cheek and then retreated into the darkness.

I slept fitfully that night, troubled the tarot card readings and what the woman said. I didn't want to know what sort of trial by fire I was facing or what sort of lies Sean was struggling to keep buried. I wanted so badly to brush this entire thing off as rubbish but I couldn't shake the feelings so easily. I was afraid the woman was right about everything she'd said.

I awoke with a start the next day. Anxious voices from downstairs roused me from sleep and then tones made me worry. I was quick as a bunny getting dressed for the day in my newly washed dress and I pushed my feet into my boots, lacing them up hurriedly. Rushing down the stairs, I found most of the girls all ready awake, crowding around Wicked and Joker who were holding a newspaper in between them.

"What's going on? What's the headline?" I asked.

The girls parted enough for me to make my way to the twins. I peaked over Joker's shoulder to look at the headline and ice filled my veins.

 _'BROOKLYN HEIGHTS BOY FOUND STRANGLED. NO LEADS.'_

* * *

 _Author's Note-_

 _Welp, there it is. The killer's in Brooklyn! Unfortunately, I'm sure you guys who have followed me since the beginning know the usual algorithm of my stories: when there is fluff, there are bad things coming. Fluff is always a bad omen in my fics; sorry bout it! (I'm not sorry)_

 _Thanks as always to my better half Joker, my amazing guest, and the much more talented than me coveredinbees14!_

 _Carryin' the banner!_

 _xx Wicked_


	5. five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

The weeks that followed were dismal. The heavens mocked us with a heat wave and cloudless blue skies, which did not seem to fit the chill of the atmosphere amongst the working class children down below.

It was difficult to see any good in our situation at all. The slaughter had ceased for the time being, but that did not seem to provide any comfort to any of us. How could it? Someone was stalking us - the smaller, weaker, poorer children of this city - and the police seemed to be sitting back on their haunches as we got annihilated left and right, with no warning, with no repercussions. With no end in sight.

Spot had not said very much to me since the night of our tarot card readings, especially not about our situation. He had even less to say about one of our boys being murdered and did not show up to the funeral we all pitched in to afford. I was so angry and disappointed in him for that.

It felt wrong for Thomas to be buried in the corner of the Jewish cemetery, next to the paupers. Like he was nothing, like he was nobody. Just another poor street kid, swept under the rug with the rest of the children who had gotten slaughtered.

Death was unfair; he was heartless and cruel, selfish and demanding. It wasn't fair.

"Angel, are you listening to me?" Pip's usual cheery voice was soured with irritation, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I gave her a thin smile and sipped my tea. "I am now." Ignoring the huff of dramatic annoyance she gave in response to my comment, I pressed on: "So who's house are you housekeeping for? Also how did this even happen? How are you taking orders? I should think someone of your level of cheek wouldn't be able to be under anyone."

This seemed to please her because she brightened up the same way a room did when you wrenched open the curtains in the morning to let the light in.

"Oh, you know, some regular old well-to-do family. I think they're friends with the Mayor? It hardly matters," Pip said flippantly, which made me laugh. She leaned in close, her eyes wide with mirth. "However, I have heard some things from the whispers of the other maids here."

"Oh? Do tell!" I encouraged her. Pip always did like her morsel of gossip, and did quite a bit of stirring the pot, as it were.

"Apparently, the master of the house, Mr. Jessup, has been sneaking around with the children's nanny. Mrs. Jessup, of course, has her head in the sand like an old goose." Pip was far too excited about this. The poor woman was being cheated on and Pip's only concern was juicy gossip.

"How does this concern you?" I pressed.

"I'm so glad you asked!" Pip squealed, to which I rolled my eyes. "To avoid scandal, there's talk that Mrs. Jessup plans to send me to finishing school so I can get educated and be a real lady. Mrs. Jessup wants me to be the children's new nanny, and finishing school is the only way to do that. That way, Mrs. Jessup will be free to fire the current nanny and completely disgrace any qualifications she has in the future because she's a slut! Isn't that great?"

I shook my head, flabbergasted. "Finishing school? Pip, you can't be serious. Finishing school is filled with stuffy, catty little girls. You'd rip them all apart by their corsets."

Pip nodded. She tossed another lump of sugar into her tea and stirred it. "That's true. But being the nanny means higher pay. Plus, I'll get to boss around the Jessup's hideously behaved little urchins. It's my calling, Angel."

I rolled my eyes again. "And what does Race have to say about all of this?"

"Oh! Race!" Pip squealed and then reached for my hand. "Well, you know that Race is working down at the tracks now. He finally got that job he was itching to get and he works with the bets!"

" _Works_ with the bets?" I asked. "That sounds a little fishy, Pip."

"He only fixes a few races and they line his pockets a little bit," Pip said, looking away innocently.

I almost dropped the teacup. "He's _fixing_ the races? Pip, that's wrong! That's _criminal_!"

Pip's brow furrowed slightly and she pinned me with her eyes. "This is coming from the former pickpocket?"

I frowned, my eyes hardening slightly. I hated when that was used against me. "I was doing what I had to survive," I said defensively.

"That's what we're doing." Pip sat back in her chair. "We're planning on getting married, Angel. Weddings cost money, and money we don't got. It's not forever. Just until we get some money put away, and then he swore to me he's done. He doesn't want his hands dirty as much as I don't."

"It's wrong, Pip. Even if it's for a good reason." I squeezed her hand. "I love you and I want you to be happy, but this isn't okay."

"I love you, too, Angel. You're my sister." Pip returned my squeeze. "But this is just how things are right now. It's good money. Besides, you see the way that madman is slaughtering our friends out there. I'm surprised that Spot isn't doing something similar to get you and him off the street."

I swallowed nervously. It had crossed my mind that Sean was doing something illegal to obtain the money he suddenly seemed to be having. I couldn't see him fixing horse races, though, but I couldn't fathom what else he could possibly be doing in order to make that kind of money so quickly. I had no proof of anything so it wasn't as if I could just accuse him. We were all ready on such thin ice right now. One wrong step and we would capsize. I wasn't ready for us to go under. Not until I knew what was going on.

"All right, girls. Let's wrap it up. I've given you far too long now." The matron of the house, who introduced herself as Darcy, came toddling into the kitchen where Pip and I were sitting drinking tea. "Piper, Mrs. Jessup needs you in the dining room. Apparently there was a mix up with this evening's dinner napkins."

Pip rolled her eyes but then brightened just as easily, throwing her arms around me like she always had. She reminded me so much of my Diana, who I was thinking a lot about these days. All this death brought hers right back up as if it had just happened a week ago.

"I never get to see you anymore, but I'm so glad you came around. Maybe next time you see me, I'll be a proper lady and I'll teach you and thing or two about Shakespeare or whatever it is educated ladies discuss," Pip told me matter-of-factly.

"I'll look forward to it, Pip," I assured her and then allowed Darcy to escort me out the servant's entrance of the estate.

I truly disliked being the in the expensive part of Manhattan, mostly because it served as a reminder of all the things I hated about the affluent lifestyle. More money did not mean fewer problems. I think I'd rather be broke, honestly.

Being back home did little to provide me with any sort of comfort the way that it normally did. I assisted the girls in preparing dinner and helped the younger girls straighten up their bunk area, all while feeling as if I was floating outside my body. Anxiety wrapped around my throat like a pair of hands, squeezing ever so slightly when I breathed in. Inky, black sadness threatened at the edges of my vision, covering my body like a vice.

"So how's our Pip? Didn't you go to see her today?" Joker asked me, her voice forcing me back into my body.

"Oh, yes! Do tell us?" Wicked agreed with her counterpart, leaning back to rest her body against the wall behind her.

"She's well," I said slowly, frowning. "Still herself, of course. Loud, obnoxious. The way she usually is."

Joker frowned slightly at my mechanical answer. She was always so much more perceptive than I gave her credit for. "Is that all?" she pressed me.

I saw no use hiding it from them. I glanced around us, making sure we were as private as we possibly could be. "She told me that Race was helping to fix races for money under the table." I rubbed my forehead anxiously. "She said that it was for only a short time. It's illegal, but the way she said it so easily, it was like that fact didn't matter in the slightest. I don't want Race to get in trouble or get sent to jail or anything like that."

The twins were silent for a moment, looking at each other. It was eerie the way they looked at each other sometimes, as if they were having entire conversations with just their eyes. They still hadn't spoken and the anxiety was clawing up my throat.

"Well, say something, the both of you!" I said, the bubbling anxiety giving my voice a slightly higher pitch than I'd intended.

"We gotta make a living somehow, Angel," Wicked said slowly, as if she was choosing her words carefully.

"We still steal things. Papes or no papes, we'd still steal," Joker added, shrugging her slight shoulders. "We're all sinners, Angel. None of us are perfect."

My head hurt. I rubbed my forehead again, as if that would soothe the ache. Sometimes it felt like the ache rested deep in my bones, a years old ache that would never truly heal. I didn't know how to explain to the twins that it bothered me that Racetrack was fixing horse races and taking money for it under the table.

"I get that they're trying to survive, and fixing races is a quick way of making money. I really do understand that," I said tiredly. "It just seems wrong. What if he gets caught?"

"That's a risk he has to take, I suppose," Joker said. "What if Wicked or I get caught stealing? We'd all end up the same place, you know."

"I just don't think it's a smart idea to be dancing with the Devil this way, so to speak. The Bulls are just looking for reasons to arrest us as it is. Why are we making it easier for them by actually committing a crime?"

Wicked tilted her head, her mess of light hair falling over her shoulder. "I see what you're saying, Angel. But if Pip said that Race wasn't doing this for long, his chances to be arrested are pretty low."

"It's just a means to an end, Angel. Don't get so bent." Joker reached for my hand. "It's not your responsibility to keep the entirety of New York safe."

I nodded slowly, accepting that from her. "I understand. I think I'm just tired. Spot and I had a bit of a spat a few days ago and I think that's just pressing on me right now. I'm sorry," I told the twins.

"Don't be sorry!" The girls spoke at once.

"You wouldn't be Angel if you didn't worry about everyone and not care about yourself." Joker told me.

"Maybe you should go talk to Spot? Maybe your mood would improve," Wicked suggested.

I nodded. "I think I will, actually. Will you two hold things down here? Make sure the little ones get to bed on time?"

Wicked rolled her eyes. "Bedtimes are only guidelines, Angel," she teased me.

I pinned her with a look and Joker threw her arm around her other half's shoulders, grinning at me. "Don't you worry about a damn thing, Angel. We have everything under control."

"This Lodging House better still be standing when I get back," I threatened them.

"Yes, ma'am, Queenie!" the girls chorused.

With everything cleaned up from dinner and things (mostly) in good hands with the twins, I took my leave from the Girl's Lodging House and headed towards Brooklyn Heights. The smell of salt and raw fish invaded my senses as I neared the pier and the boys' Lodging House.

It was not yet curfew, so a few boys lingered outside, sharing cigarettes and some soft conversation. They nodded at me as I approached and stepped back from hovering by the door so that I could enter. I did not see Spot in the main area, nor had I seen him lounging around outside. I climbed the worn stairs and found Silver and a few boys playing a game of poker in the middle of the floor.

"Hello, boys," I greeted them. "Have any of you seen Spot?"

Silver looked up at me, his eyebrows raised. "Hello, Angel," he said in return and then looked confused. "No, we haven't. I assumed he was with you?"

I blinked a few times, processing this. "N-No, I haven't seen him all day."

There was anxiety in Silver's eyes but he was amongst mixed company so he was forced to keep things together. "Give me a second, boys," Silver told his friends and then stood up. He took my hand and I let him lead me toward the washroom, away from prying ears. "You haven't seen him at all today?" he asked in a hushed tone, once we were alone.

I shook my head. "I saw him briefly when we were getting our papes but that was it. He kissed me and told me he would see me later, just like usual."

Silver frowned and raked an anxious hand through his hair. "Shit," he swore and then shook his head. "I don't even know where to start looking for him. The city is too big."

"You don't think he's in Brooklyn?" I asked, kind of surprised. It took quite a bit for Spot to leave the safety of his 'kingdom' as it were.

"I don't know," Silver said honestly.

"What about Sneak? Is he here?" I asked, changing tactics, trying to narrow down the list of places that Spot could be.

"No, he's not. I haven't seen him today either," Silver said, anxiety evident on his face.

"That's actually a good thing," I told him and reached for his hand. "That means they're together. Spot isn't alone out there; he has Sneak with him. He's in good hands."

"I love that you can think so positively in these dismal times," Silver said, lowering his voice again.

I shook my head, frowning. "It's not positivity. I'm trying to be logical. The last thing I feel right now is positive, Silver." He nodded slightly and then let my hand go. "Do you mind if I wait around for him?"

"Not at all. Knock yourself out, Angel. I'm sure you're the one he'd want to see anyway, not my mug," Silver said and winked cheekily at me. He reached up and squeezed my shoulder before walking past me, back towards his friends.

I quietly closed the door to Spot's room and let my hair down. I found a book of matches and lit the kerosene lamp perched on the table next to Spot's bed. I paced for a moment before I went to the window, peering out into the inky blackness of the streets. Not even the streetlights did much to illuminate the darkness on the dirty streets.

Sitting down on Spot's bed, I curled up with his blanket and breathed in the scent of him, praying that wherever he was, whomever he was with, whatever he was doing, he was all right.

I awoke with a bit of a start, feeling fingertips on my face. The room was dark, the lamp having burned itself out. Disoriented, I tried to sit up in a bit of a panic. The person in the room with me seemed to sense my actions and placed a hand over my mouth to hinder any noise that would come out.

"Relax, Liss. It's me." Sean.

My body physically sagged with relief and I reached for him in the darkness. My blind fingers brushed his cheeks, his chin, his jaw, digging into his shirt to pull him to me. My mouth devoured him for a moment, clumsily in the dark. I first kissed his cheek before I found his mouth, kissing him soundly for a moment.

"Where... have... you... been?" I whispered in between kisses.

I felt him laugh at me, my hands on his chest. His fingers curled around mine, holding my hands against him. "Did you miss me or something, Lissa?" he asked. I didn't need light to know that a very attractive pirate smile graced the lips I had just attacked.

"I thought something terrible might have happened to you," I admitted quietly. "I intended to stay up and wait for you, but I think I was more tired than I cared to admit."

"Well, I have to say, finding you in my bed is not the worst surprise I've ever gotten," he said, a laugh in his voice.

My hands searched in the darkness for the book of matches and lit the lamp again. Buttery light spread out around us and I finally got a good look at his face. The state he was in dampened my mood immediately.

The right side of his face looked a little swollen, there was a thin sliver in his lush bottom lip, and both of his hands were completely torn up at the knuckles. It looked as if he had stopped to clean himself up before coming to bed, but there were faint blood droplets on his collar.

Spot watched me take his current state in silence, his expression unreadable. "Shall we go to bed now?" he asked, after a moment.

"What happened to you?" I blurted out.

"What do you mean?" I don't know if he was feigning ignorance or what, but that was not the response I wanted at all.

I stood up immediately, wanting to kick him. "You know what I mean! You look like you got into a fight!" I said a little loudly.

"Lower your voice, Lissa," Spot said, his expression darkening slightly. "It's not a big deal. It's over now, and I'm home. So let's just go to bed."

"Stop making me feel like I'm going mad!" I accused him, turning around to glare him. "And quit hiding things from me! What the hell were you doing that you got into a fight?

"It's not really any of your business, Alissa, what I do with my time."

My palms itched to slap him. "Is that so? It's not my business to know what you're doing, but it's yours to know what I'm doing every second of the day?"

"Exactly." His cool tone only fueled my anger. "For example, I know you were with Pip today in Manhattan. How is she, by the way?"

Before I knew what I was doing, my hand reached up to strike him. Quick as a cobra, Spot grabbed my wrist before my hand connected with his face. He stood up from the bed slowly and held my wrist tight, his eyes flashing ice, a warning.

"Let. Go. Of. Me," I said, my teeth clenched together so tightly that my jaw was beginning to get sore.

He didn't respond to me right away. Instead, he flexed his wrist and began twisting my arm around. Pain spiked up my arm to my shoulder and I moved my body in order to relieve it, but it betrayed me, buckling my knees under me. I dropped to the floor before him, much like a ragdoll. Spot continued to twist my arm behind my back, holding my hand uncomfortably high, almost pulling my arm free from the socket.

"You aren't the ones who gives the orders are here. I am." He spoke directly into my ear. When I stayed quiet, he spoke again: "Apologize. Now."

"I'm sorry." The voice that spoke was foreign, definitely not mine. I did not know who this person was, and I had never been so frightened of him.

"That's much better." Spot released my hand and I was able to soothe my sore arm, my free hand squeezing my shoulder. "Get up, Alissa. I'm tired and I want to go to bed."

Doing as I was told, I got to my feet and turned around to face him. I couldn't describe the look on his face as he looked down upon me, but it sparked up my rage anew. Quicker than him this time, catching him off guard, I reeled my hand back and smacked him across the face with all my might, catching him on the swollen part of his face.

"You whore!" Spot growled, reactively shoving me backwards as hard as he could.

I tripped over my feet as I stumbled backwards and hit the other side of the room, my back against the wall. He was breathing hard, his eyes wild. He lunged at me after a beat of silence and I attempted to dart past him, trying to use my lithe body to my advantage. However, he swung himself around and buried his hands in my hair, gripping tight and using it as an anchor to drag me back. My back hit the wall hard and I let out a shriek from the pain.

"You're going to fucking regret that, Alissa. I swear to God. I could _fucking_ kill you," he hissed at me. It was then that I noticed his breath reeked of spirits, his pupils dilated.

I spat in his face, causing him to pull my hair again. "Oh, of course you're drunk! How did I not even notice that? Let go of me, Sean Conlon, you bastard!" I shouted.

Just then, two pairs of hands gripped Spot's shoulders and pulled him backwards, which pulled me with him, seeing as his hand was still in my hair.

"Let go of her, Conlon. Now!" Silver shouted at him.

Like a switch had been flicked, Spot's grip on my hair loosened and I was able to get free of him. My heart hammered wildly in my chest as Silver and another boy I didn't know wrestled Spot to the ground, holding him down as he thrashed around against them, spewing obscenities, his face red with rage.

"Get out of here, Angel," Silver barked in my general direction.

I didn't have to be told twice. I ran out of the Lodging House and didn't stop.

* * *

 _Author's Note-_

 _It's been a while, hasn't it? I am so sorry for that! So much has been going on offline, mostly regarding my mental health and things going on with my little sister. I gotta take care of myself first, yeah? Anyway, I hope everyone's still with me! I love you guys so much! Thanks for hanging in there with me!_

 _Thanks as always to my better half Joker, my amazing guest, the much more talented than me coveredinbees14 and also Hakunaaaa Matataaaa for kicking my butt into gear! Also shoutout to Waterparks' new album called Entertainment that is so sad and aggressive and absolutely fueled this chapter. (Do you guys like Waterparks? I love them so much!)_

 _Let me know how you felt about this chapter! I kind of want to start leaving questions in these Author's Notes to engage you guys and get you thinking! How do you guys feel about Racetrack fixing races? Do you agree with Angel that it's wrong, or Joker and Wicked, that it's simply a means to an end and a way of survival? What about that fight? Gah, Sean and Lissa have such explosive chemistry. They're so fun to write. About what about Mick? Do you trust him? Do you think he's up to no good? Tell me!_

 _Carryin' the banner!_

 _xx Wicked_


	6. six

**CHAPTER SIX**

Hiding in Manhattan was not my best plan, but it had been my only plan. I had been hiding for a week now and hadn't been back to Brooklyn. No one had come to see me and that was just as well. I wasn't sure I wanted to see anyone.

I had been thinking quite a lot about Pip this week and the current situation of the working-class kids surrounding me. The idea of being a maid in some well-to-do household in the Upper East Side appealed to me as much as a hole in the head did, but it would get me off the street. I felt selfish for thinking only of myself though and tried not to entertain these thoughts.

"Is everything in order, Sir?" I asked when the grocer returned with the bags of goods.

The corners of the man's eyes crinkled as he smiled at me. "Yes, indeed. I have an inventory list for you as well." He handed me the piece of card stock that had all the items packed in the bags.

A quick glance at the list told me I had everything I needed. I returned the man's smile. "Thank you very much, Mr. Marks."

"You're quite welcome, Miss O'Rourke. Be safe, now."

I hoisted the bags into my arms and eased myself out the door of the grocer's store. It was a quick walk back to the Manhattan Girl's Lodging House and I made quick work of unpacking the bags and placing items into the icebox before the wicked summer heat could invade the perishable items.

"You are a true gem, Angel!" I turned to face the Lodging House matron, the very portly but kind Mrs. Whitney. I smiled at her. "I didn't know how I was going to make it to the grocer's today between all the house chores."

"It was my pleasure, Mrs. Whitney," I told her, though I didn't mention how grateful I was to not be selling papers on the street this entire week. I'd been running her errands, which had got me thinking about perhaps being hired as a maid. "Is there anything else that can be done?"

Mrs. Whitney paused in counting out the coins she was to give me for my task. "Yes, actually. My daughter has a dress that needs to be picked up from the seamstress. I trust your judgement, Angel. Would you mind terribly in collecting it?" She counted out the extra money to give me to pay for the dress. "Please make sure there is white lace trim around the bust. I paid extra for it; I expect it to be there."

I took the money from her and placed it in the small drawstring purse I had hidden in my skirts. "I won't let you down, Mrs. Whitney."

"I know you won't, my Angel girl." With one last smile, Mrs. Whitney pushed up her sleeves again and disappeared upstairs to continue cleaning and I was dismissed to complete my errand.

The walk to the dress shop was pleasant enough. The air was warm but not stifling which was surprising for a June afternoon. The shop was in a fancy, well-to-do part of the Upper East Side in Manhattan, which I had frequented in my days as a society girl. I was acutely aware of the other people on the street with me; well-dressed gentleman in waistcoats and hats with beautiful girls in gorgeous dresses on their arms.

And then there was me. My hair was left down around my shoulders, desperate for a haircut but I hadn't the money to do so, and my plain white blouse and green skirt combination made me stick out pretty obnoxiously. How strange it was to be walking the same street I had not two years ago in a dress that cost at least ten dollars and here I was again and my entire outfit did not cost me more than a dollar. Life was strange that way.

I squared my shoulders and entered the dress shop, a small bell hanging over the door tinkling as the door swung open. Then man behind the counter had his back to me, working quite diligently on a pretty orange summer gown that looked to be made of satin or some such shiny fabric.

"Give me just a moment! I want to pin this section in place so I don't lose my mark," the man said without turning around.

"That's quite all right. Take your time," I told him and folded my hands before me. I considered myself a fairly patient person so I supposed a few more minutes wouldn't kill me completely.

Strangely, however, I watched the man's entire body stiffen, his hands paused midair in front of the dress. He turned on his heel and his eyes swept over me, his entire face souring visibly.

"An Irish girl, are you? Why are you in my shop?" he asked in a tone I hadn't heard in a long time.

My English was fairly good, thanks to my time as a society girl. I had practiced very hard with Diana to get my Irish accent to soften, since I had known that the Irish were discriminated against and I had been attempting to blend into elite Manhattan society. Had my accent returned since I had no longer a need to hide it? I couldn't tell, but maybe he could hear it.

"I-I'm here to collect a dress for Mrs. Josephine—" I began to say but he waved his hand to cut me off.

"I don't care why you're here," he barked which I felt was ironic because he _had_ asked me why I was there. "You need to leave. Now."

I was flabbergasted. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I am here to collect a dress. I have money to pay for it."

He barked a wry laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you do. Stole that money, too, did you? You micks are all the same. Get out. Now."

I could feel the blood draining from my face. I had never been called a racial slur before. I felt embarrassed, my chest tightening with shame. "Sir, if I could simply purchase the dress, I will certainly leave your store," I said with the last remaining scraps of manners I felt.

"I'm not selling a dress to a filthy mick! Out!" he shouted but this time he came around the counter.

His hand gripped my upper arm roughly and he hauled the door open, effectively tossing me onto the street. There was a stoop outside the door and the toes of my boot caught the step the wrong way and I toppled directly onto my face on the sidewalk below. I pushed myself up to sit on my knees, my hands stinging from the scraps I'd sustained from the fall.

"Now get before I alert an officer, you filthy mick," the man said and the slammed the door shut behind him.

The people around me on the street hushed up throughout the entire exchange, gawking at me as if I'd just grown three heads. Nobody said anything to me or offered to help me off the ground. I was humiliated and there was a soreness in my chest like I was about to cry, my throat closing up.

"Are you all right, Angel?"

I was very surprised to hear Racetrack's voice and even more surprised to see him standing over me with his hand extended.

"No," I admitted. "It's been a long time since someone as treated me so poorly."

"I'm sorry," he said and it sounded like he meant it.

I grasped his hand and leaned my weight on him, allowing him to help me up off the ground. I smoothed out my blouse and brushed dust and dirt from my skirt. I still felt like I wanted to cry but I could not, in good faith, find it in myself to cry in front of Racetrack. My pride wouldn't let me, though I knew he would never make me feel shame for it.

"Thank you, Race." I rubbed my thumb across the broken skin of one of my palms, frowning. "I suppose it's luck that you happened upon me today. I think I would've just sat there on the ground and cried."

Race gave me a warm smile. "Then it's good I happened along. It ain't right for pretty girls to be cryin'."

Deciding to ignore the endearment, I pressed on, "How is it that you happened along today? This isn't exactly your neck of the woods." I offered him a wry smile.

Race grinned at me. "As it happens, I was out this way visiting my bird and it was quicker to cut through this way so I could head back to Sheepshead."

"You saw Pip? How is she doing?" When Race began walking, I fell in step beside him. "I saw her a few days ago. I can't believe she actually wants to attend finishing school and become a nanny."

"It's just a means to an end, Angel, like everything else." Race tossed me a sidelong glance. "Between you and me, she ain't gonna last a week. She'll boot those kids through a window. She ain't got the patience. But I can't tell her any of that."

I dug my elbow into his side playfully. "That's because she'd throttle you!"

That made Race laugh. "True. There are things ya just don't tell ya girl because they'll either get mad or they'll worry. I ain't keen for her to do either so I just keep it to myself."

"Not your best plan, but it'll do," I teased him.

We came upon the Duane Street Lodging House then and I swallowed my pride long enough to allow the House Mother to clean and bandage my hands for me. The alcohol she used on the scrapes hurt like a bitch and I had to force myself not to flinch at the pain.

"I forgot to ask, Angel: how's the king doing?" Race asked on our way to go wrangle up some dinner.

"Oh, he's all right. I've been spending a lot of time in Manhattan this week so I haven't really been around," I explained airily. "But I'll tell him you asked about him. I'm sure that'll do wonders for his ego."

Race just grinned at me. He ended up buying me dinner as penance, it seemed, for seeing my humiliation this afternoon. I didn't think it right to object, especially when he reminded me that he had money to spare. We chatted for a bit until it was time for Race to go back to collect Pip and make sure she got home safe.

"Could I get a glass of whisky?" I asked the waiter when he came back to collect the money from the dinner check.

He eyeballed me. "How old are you?"

"I have money. So let's forget the age, yeah?" I said bluntly.

His tone changed immediately. "Sure, of course. Coming right up."

An hour later, I had put away two glasses of whisky. My vision was swimming and my entire body felt warm as the whisky spread from my belly throughout my body. It was no wonder that people drank whisky to keep warm.

I supposed it was time for me to face my fears to get my ass back to Brooklyn. I had stalled long enough in Manhattan and I didn't fancy doing any more errands if I was to be treated like the filth on the underside of a boot. Being knocked around brought forth some very ugly feelings inside and I needed to shove them back down or else I felt I would drown in them.

That did not stop me from ordering a third glass. Perhaps I thought the alcohol would give me some nerve and allow me to march myself back to Brooklyn and put Sean Conlon in his place. Mostly I think I was just plying myself with alcohol so I wouldn't have to feel anything when I went back to Brooklyn and inevitably got my ass beat again for leaving.

Across the booth from me, the figure of a man slid into the seat. I blinked a few times to clear my vision when I realized it was Mick, a pirate smile curling his lips all ready.

"You look like hell," he observed.

"Go swing on it. I'm not in the mood," I told him.

This seemed to amuse him, as everything I said seemed to do. "A little fight in you tonight, eh, Angel? Remind me to get you drunk more often."

"Go to hell." I reached for my newly filled glass and took a sip.

"What did you do to your hand?" Mick asked after a moment. The mirth was now gone from his voice and he seemed quite serious.

"I got thrown out of a dress shop today for being Irish, tripped on my feet and fell flat on my ass," I said, suddenly angry. "And I shouldn't even have been in Manhattan this week but Spot Conlon decided to smack me across the face for no reason so I couldn't stay there. Do you want to make fun of me for that, too?"

I had lashed out at him but Mick didn't even seem fazed. "I'm sorry, Angel. About the dress shop and Conlon."

The blood roared in my ears from my anger but his tone actually made me feel better. He was condescending to me and he wasn't laughing at me. "Thanks," I muttered.

"So is Conlon no longer your sweetheart?" Mick asked, taking my glass of whisky from me to take a drink of it himself.

"I don't know," I said honestly, frowning.

"I don't mind filling the position, you know, Angel." The pirate smile was back on his smug face. "All you need is a good breaking in like a colt and then you'll be good to go."

My face warmed in my embarrassment. "That's very rude of you. I am not a mare."

Mick sat back in the seat, the picture of arrogance and mirth. "Relax. I was just trying to see what sort of girl you were."

I glared at him. "What sort of girl I am is none of your business."

"Ah, so you have been broken in! No wonder you're so moody!" Mick grinned. "Do you like it rough, little Angel? You like being held down?" His fingers inched across the table and he wrapped his hand around my wrist.

I yelped and stood up so fast that I knocked the half-full glass of whisky off the table from hitting it so hard. I yanked my wrist from his grasp, the blood roaring in my ears again. "Don't ever speak to me again. How _dare_ you assume things about me. You know _nothing_."

"It was only a joke, Angel. Now sit down. You're drunk," Mick said flippantly but I wasn't hearing him.

I put the last of my money on the table. "I'm going home, you ass. Don't pretend to care about my state now," I hissed at him.

The cool night air was a refreshing rush to my senses as I swung the door of the bar open and stepped outside. He was right, however, that I was in no condition to be walking around. The world had been spinning under me since the second I stood up but I was angry and that filled me with enough momentum to at least get my ass outside.

Now that I was here, however, I wasn't sure what to do.

"Come on, Angel. Stop this." I whirled around to face Mick, who was hovering in the doorway of the bar, his larger form blocking the light making him look ethereal. "Come back inside."

"Don't speak to me like I'm a child," I told him. "And leave me alone."

When I turned around again, however, I almost ran myself right into Sean Conlon who was standing before me looking irritated. He wasn't looking at me, I noticed after a few moments, but over my shoulder at Mick who was still standing in the doorway of the bar.

"Ah, good. I'm glad you're here; our Angel girl is a little drunk and she'll need escorted home," Mick told him easily. "I'd be happy to do it myself actually."

Sean ignored him for a moment then and turned his eyes to mine. He smoothed his hand along my hair, holding my face in the gentlest way. "Are you hurt?" he asked me.

I shook my head, which was the wrong choice because it just spun the world around me a little faster. "I'm okay."

"We need to talk about what happened," he said and then frowned. "But not tonight. Can I walk you home?"

"Yes, please," I said quietly.

Sean then turned his attention back to Mick. "I don't know why you were here with her, but don't speak to her again. I'll kill you if you do."

Sean was pulling me away then, his arm around my shoulders to keep me walking as straight as possible. My head was growing more foggy by the second. I was becoming very tired and my limbs felt like they were filled with lead.

Just before I passed out, however, I thought I heard Mick say, "Of course, Boss. It won't happen again."

* * *

 _Author's Note-_

 _Pride Month always puts me in a fierce, feminist mood and it occurred to me that I've never allowed you guys to see Lissa's heritage get discriminated against. I've only ever mentioned it briefly, so I decided to fix it. Hope that's okay! I also hope this chapter wasn't too jam-packed with different things; I got excited and just went for it!_

 _Thanks so much to my baes last chapter: coveredinbees14, Hakunaaaa Matataaaa, CatherineA, and Guest! And thank you to the ghost readers as well, impatient and patient alike. You all mean the world to me._

 _Carryin' the banner!_

 _xx Wicked_


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